Happy Mother’s Day my fellow Pilgrims…
I meet you at my kitchen table on a cloudy and cool day in Santa Barbara. We call days like today, May Grey, they are a hallmark of our Spring. Often in the afternoon, the grey and cool fog burns off, and we are greeted by a glorious afternoon. Today doesn’t seem to be one of those days. It will stay cool and gloomy all day. Days like today are delicious… I slip into my yoga pants (my official wardrobe of the pandemic), make that extra cup of tea and I spend time writing to you.
As I write, I can share that my morning was delightful; different from my days of warmish tea and burnt toast in bed. I didn’t receive hand-crafted cards or gifts made from tiny hands at school. Breakfast was quieter than my earlier years, my teens not quite ready for conversations. I loved that both crawled out of bed, put a smile on, made small talk and wished me a Happy Mother’s Day. Today, both without complaint enjoyed mass streaming from Seattle. It was perfect.
Yesterday, I went on a walk with the Beauties. While we walked, I took the nearly adult hands of each of them and interlaced their fingers with mine. Naturally, the Beauties think they are too old for such foolishness, but they lovingly allowed this short motherly indulgence. In the last year, both Ian and Norah have changed dramatically, developing new ideas and observations—acquiring both wisdom and independence. This walk was filled with their charming, clever, and unique views of our world.
As we walked, we noticed two moms were watching over their children bike riding in the street. The kiddos were young, just old enough to ride two wheelers, but not safe enough to bike unsupervised. On this rarely traveled side street, the mothers had placed themselves as traffic cones at each end of the street to stop traffic if a car should turn. As we passed, Norah said, “Mom, you did that for us…” Gulping back a tear, I smiled. I turned away from Norah, to call to the other mothers sharing what Norah had said. They both smiled that knowing shared sacred bond. Today, these young mothers are in a different place on their journey, but all too quickly they will find themselves in my place watching these moments from afar.
We seem to rarely have the presence to recognize, that these simple almost forgettable moments are often our last...
When was the last time my child crawled into my lap and we read a book together? The last time we held a hands as I walked them to school? The last time I put a band-aid on a skinned knee? I can’t remember that last day I worried about my children biking unsteadily in the street. When was that day? What was I thinking? Was I happy? Was I present or was I worried I needed to start dinner? I don’t remember.
It is a stark realty… we can’t remember all of our lasts.
I believe this desire and search for these lost moments comes from a place of uncertainty. We are all searching for simpler times. This pandemic has filled us with fear. We are forced to face the unknown. We worry about our economy, our health, and our country’s future. We worry about what school will look like for our children, we wonder when will we grocery shop without a mask and Clorox wipes? When will we freely hug friends? When will our children see their grandparents? When will our houses of worship safely reopen? When will we stop worrying that we may infect strangers, friends and loved ones?
Even with this as our shared reality, our lives are still moving forward. In these eight weeks, a new life joined my tribe, a dear friend married, and our family celebrates three graduates.
Life continues to blind us with her beauty…
Yet, even with these beautiful reassurances, I still have moments when my anxiety, worries, and what-ifs leave me twirling. I don’t hide from these feelings, I acknowledge them. Then I stop. Often I go for a walk; sometimes I even find myself lacing my fingers in each of my Beauties’ hands. It is in these moments, I ground myself in the now. This moment. This breath. This walk. This memory. I store them. I capture them. I hold them…
This moment may be a first or a last, but it will be treasured, it will be savored. This moment will be a forever gift.
My faith is my strongest gift, it ties me to the Divine. I have always loved the theological virtues of Faith, Hope and Love. If my home could be built from words—my home would be built out of Faith, Hope and Love. These virtues are the form, substance, and the essence of resilience. They are the building blocks of my soul. They propel me forward in times of uncertainty.
Today my day began with a text from my doctor in DC. His simple text, “Happy Mother’s Day” with a smile emoji. This greeting from my dear Harvard, brought tears to my eyes. He is decidedly on my worry list. As a pulmonologist and critical care doctor, he is an expert on COVID and is leading the effort at a busy local hospital. In addition to being head of my medical team, Harvard has spent years in hot spots dealing with infectious disease outbreaks. When I responded to his text to check on him, he shared what I already knew. He was just returning home after a busy shift at the hospital.
My heart immediately shifted from worry to love. Today every person that Harvard encountered was given not only the best medicine has to offer, but also empathy and compassion. I have looked into his eyes as he listened to my lungs and I struggled to breath. I know the warmth of his hand in mine. I have looked into his eyes which too rimmed with tears when I shared that I was afraid of dying. I’ve been alone in the hospital when my health has gone sideways—but in those moments, Harvard was with me. I know what it’s like to be blessed with Harvard’s care. Today in a hospital beds in DC, some very sick people didn’t feel so alone. That reminder made my Mother’s Day text a gift…
Three years ago today, I held the tiny and cold hand of my daughter and with Jeff we admitted her into the hospital. Don’t get me wrong, it was a scary and painful day, but it was also a day of great hope. We were finally in the place where we could stabilize Norah and together gain the tools to create her wellness. In our world, May 10th 2017, is Norah’s recovery day. Last week we had a telemedicine appointment with the doctor who admitted Norah. We have made countless trips in the last three years to San Diego for Norah’s ongoing treatment. Just like Harvard leads my team, Dr. K leads Norah’s. In those early days of admission, she shared that a full and solid recovery would take years. I remember vividly standing in the hospital hallway with Jeff saying, “You better start calling us Jeff and Kathryn because you are now stuck with us for years.” Our check-ups are always filled with updates, tips, and suggestions, but they are also filled with laughter as we cheer Norah’s progress. As the call was winding down, I reminded Dr. K that the 10th was Norah’s day of admission. In that moment, her smile jumped though our computer, “Norah it’s our Anniversary!” she positively radiated with love. It was pure joy. We hugged good-bye through the computer, and I smiled for the rest of the day. That moment was the culmination of three years of Faith, Hope and Love. Norah learned resilience from Dr. K and Norah loves her—and I do too.
In these strange days, uncertainty remains our companion. I leave you with this… In my life the moments that daybreak seemed just out of reach, when life was scariest and the most uncertain. I have found my hands gently resting in the hands of someone I never expected. These hands, these strangers I didn’t know I was missing, these hands have comforted, guided, and loved me… The hands may have been of a doctor, a therapist, a new friend… They can only have come from one source. The Divine sent them to me…
As my Mother’s Day comes to a close, I remember each of the hands that have guided me and loved me. I remain forever grateful for the gift of Faith, Hope and Love…
And I am grateful for each of you, who continue to join your hands in mine.
Happy Mother’s Day.
K